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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201233">summer camp</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesoprock/pseuds/aesoprock'>aesoprock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>3rd person pov, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Derry (Stephen King), Henry Bowers is Not That Bad, M/M, No Smut, Non-Consensual Touching, Richie Tozier Has a Bad Time, Slow Burn, Sneaking Out, Summer, Summer Camp, all of the losers are just confused, not a lot of violence but a little gore its nothing extreme, richie gets stitches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:35:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201233</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesoprock/pseuds/aesoprock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>richie tozier and henry bowers get sent to the same summer camp. things escalate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Henry Bowers/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=that+one+person+i+roleplayed+with">that one person i roleplayed with</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Henry, will you come here for a second? I need to talk to you,” she said from the dining room.</p><p>	Henry knew something was wrong the minute she called for him. The voice belonged to his dad’s new girlfriend, Clarissa, a young woman in her mid-twenties. Way too young to be dating someone like his dad, in Henry’s opinion. Henry got out of bed and gently pushed his bedroom door open, expecting to see both Clarissa and his father sitting on the couch, his father enraged at him for something he forgot to do on the farm that morning and ready to bash his skull in. This was not the case.</p><p>	Instead, Clarissa sat at the dining room table, filing and clipping her fingernails. Henry was not scared of her, but he was scared to hear “the news,” so he crept over to the dining room table and sat down across from her, paranoid that his father would come in any minute.</p><p>	“Okay, hun,” she sat her nail clippers down on the table and looked at him, a neutral expression on her face. Henry felt bad for her. Dating his father was the best she could do? “Your father is sending you to a camp. He knows what you and your friends did, and he doesn’t want you in jail because it’ll give you a criminal record,” Clarissa explained, folding her hands out in front of her on the kitchen table. Her fingernails were bare, and Henry suspected painting them would come next. Clarissa never witnessed Henry’s father beat him. That was the only way he could keep a girl around- pretending he wasn’t a violent child abuser. “The police told him his only other option was a camp. You’re leaving later tonight.” She paused and studied the look on Henry’s face. “I know, hun, I’m sorry.” If Clarissa thought Henry did belong in jail or a mental facility, she didn’t show it. She was always nice to him, and Henry often wondered why.</p><p>	Henry didn’t have the slightest clue of what “him and his friends did.” It could’ve been anything, from breaking that bitch Kaspbrak boy’s arm to killing Mike Hanlon’s dog. He didn’t want to go to camp, but was slightly relieved at the fact his friends would be joining him. “Oh,” he mumbled, staring down at his own hands in his lap. “I’m not packing,” Henry said grimly. He wondered what sort of camp it would be. A boot camp? Would he have to shave off all of his hair?</p><p>	Clarissa frowned, adjusting her hair quickly. Girls and their fucking hair. “Well, you’re leaving, it’s not my choice. I’ll pack for you, and you can go say goodbye to your friends. You need to be back by five, though.” Clarissa didn’t make up for how terrible his father was, but it was nice knowing that as long as she was around, his dad wouldn’t lay a finger on him.</p><p>	He looked up at her, the idea of camp becoming even worse in his mind. “They’re not… going to be there? Are they going to jail?”</p><p>	Clarissa only nodded and stood up, presumably bracing herself to dig through Henry’s piles of sweaty clothes in his bedroom and figure out what he would need. “They’ve already been arrested, hun. Sorry.” Henry only wished that she could be his mom. Everything would be less complicated.</p><p>	He also wished he knew who got arrested. Vic? Belch? Patrick, Moose… hell, he even wished he knew about Peter Gordon, who probably didn’t get arrested, but there was no telling what he was in trouble for now. Usually he never got caught, and when he did, it was always a warning or a slap on the wrist. He didn’t care what he was in trouble for, though. It’s not like anyone involved would be coming with him. Henry stood up and left through the front door, leaving Clarissa alone at the dining room table. He planned to clear his head with a long walk, maybe near the lake or something. It wasn’t like he had anyone around to say goodbye to.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ugh,” Beverly sighed, stepping forward to hug him and rest her head on his shoulder. “That’s horrible. You’ll be back at the end of June, right?”</p><p>	The Losers all sat around him in despair, wondering what their summer was going to be like without Richie Tozier. Of course, he wasn’t going to be gone for the entire summer, but they didn’t care about that. Richie was one of them, and any of them going away for a while was a tragedy. If one of the quieter members of the group had to leave, say, for instance- Stanley, or Ben, the Losers would mostly get along fine. But this was Richie in question here, the loudest one of the group. He was always the one to raise the Losers’ spirits when they were low, or distract them when something horrible happened. Even if Richie didn’t know it, he helped each of them in his own way. And now he would be leaving for a little under a month. </p><p>	“I know,” he mutters, sticking his arms out straight and hugging her limply. “Mom said I’d be back June 26th, but it still sucks.” </p><p>	Richie’s parents decided that he’d been a shithead during the last school year. Sure, his grades were fine- he almost made straight A’s if it weren’t for gym class, which was almost entirely behavior and participation based- but he’d been suspended twice, had attended many detentions, and got yelled at by multiple teachers pretty much daily. As much as Wentworth and Maggie Tozier loved him, it had to be done. Camp was inevitable. He very much dreaded being apart from the Losers, but he knew he would get along fine- that was, if he could make friends of equal quality at camp. He would be able to entertain himself, sure, but missing out on all of the sleepovers and adventures in the Barrens was the worst. They had made so many plans for this summer, and with Richie gone, there was no point in pursuing them. </p><p>	The one thing Richie wouldn’t miss, though, was Henry Bowers and his gang. He felt bad for his friends who would probably have to endure a lot from them this summer, but he felt a guilty kind of relief that he wouldn’t be there to experience any of it.</p><p>	“W-Wuh-We’re going t-to muh-miss you.” Bill stepped forward and hugged Richie from the side, making Richie grin from ear to ear as all of the Losers surrounded him in one huge group hug. Richie’s parents would drive him later that afternoon, and he had already packed begrudgingly right after he woke up and showered. </p><p>	Richie had told himself repeatedly that it wasn’t fair. Sure, he’d been a nuisance to not only his teachers but other students, but his grades were fine! Paying attention was a struggle for him, as was most things, but he applied basic common sense to the majority of his tests and passed. Maybe he cheated a few times here and there, but after all, who didn’t? Most of his school days were spent talking to the Losers and doodling on his math worksheets, but when he wasn’t doing that, he thought about how he could get sent to the principal’s office to get out of class or how he could run away to Texas with all of his friends in his mother’s ugly minivan. <br/>	It was far fetched, and he knew it. None of his friends could drive yet, except for Mike, who was 16. The rest of them were 15, way too young to be living on their own. Richie just wished he could be an adult already, even if he didn’t end up going to college.</p><p>	But college and living on his own were both far away from him. Now he had camp to worry about.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clarissa had packed his bag, and his dad picked him up in his shitty 2010 Honda Civic that smelled of cigarettes and sweat. </p><p>	Henry sat in the passenger seat, glancing at his dad from the corner of his eye every time he would flick his ashes into the ashtray that he had over the cupholder. He was sweating through his wifebeater, and prayed that Clarissa had enough sense to pack at least one stick of deodorant, or else it would be a rough summer ahead of him. His dad remained completely silent throughout the drive, and this only made Henry slightly uneasy. His dad wouldn’t hit him while he was driving, because he might swerve and get in an accident. Right?</p><p>	It felt like his father had been driving for a million years, and when they finally came to a stop, Henry sat up a little straighter and looked over to the camp he would be staying at. He expected it to be some kind of miserable, military-esque boot camp, where they had to wake up at 5 every morning and wear the same uniforms and do push ups. It looked nothing like that.</p><p>	“You waiting for someone to fuckin’ help you outta the car?”</p><p>	Henry scrambled out of his dad’s Honda Civic and grabbed his bag as fast as he possibly could, not waiting to see what would happen otherwise. There was nobody to greet him outside of the gate. In fact, the gate was open. Was his father late dropping him off, or had everyone dropped their kids off somewhere else? It was time to find out.</p><p>	He walked through the gates and looked around. The sun was almost setting, and Henry thought it was pretty odd to have camp start at 7:30 in the evening, but he also figured it would be cheaper that way. They would only have to pay for dinner, instead of breakfast and lunch. </p><p>	Nobody was outside. Not a single person. He came to the conclusion that his dad was just extremely late dropping him off, which was normal, when someone put a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>	“Hot out here, ain’t it?” the guy said, smiling to reveal two rows of crooked teeth. Henry spun around to face him and nearly got whiplash.</p><p>	“Yeah,” Henry replied blandly, grabbing the guy’s hand and yanking it off of his shoulder. “Don’t touch me again. Fag.” The guy raised his eyebrows and took a step backwards.</p><p>	“Alright, alright, feller. You git down to the office, they tell you what cabin you go in. Y’Spost to get ‘quainted with yer bunk mates.” Henry cringed at the guy’s country twang, and he turned and headed to the office, hoping he would never have to interact with that guy again. He kept talking, and might’ve given Henry his name, but Henry wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to hear anything else that guy had to say. Henry wasn’t even sure he was from Maine at all- he’d never heard an accent like that before. Maybe he was from the deep South.</p><p>	Once the camp director gave him a cabin number (way better than country guy, thankfully,) Henry went on his way. Sweat dripped down the back of his shirt and he cringed, wanting a shower above anything else.</p><p>	He flung his cabin door open and set his bag down, looking up to see who he was cursed with as a cabin mate. </p><p>	Richie Tozier.</p><p>	And another kid, who Richie happened to be entertaining. Richie had his back to Henry, but his figure was unmistakable- skinny, bony, messy black hair and thick glasses held together with a combination of superglue and masking tape. Richie had the kid doubled over, red with laughter on the bottom half of the bunk bed. </p><p>	There was still time. Richie hadn’t seen Henry yet, and he could run back down to the office and request a new room. He wouldn’t have to be with Richie. In fact, if he did it right, Richie wouldn’t know that Henry had been there at all. But the door slammed shut- louder than Henry would have liked- and while he stood there halfway crouched down after putting his bag on the floor, Richie decided to turn around and size up his new cabin mate.</p><p>	The fat kid on the bottom half of the bunk bed didn’t have a clue. But Richie did, and he flinched immediately upon seeing Henry. Henry wasn’t sure what Richie was expecting- to get hit, or have his arm split in half like Eddie?</p><p>	Neither of those things happened though. Henry stood up straight, his eyes locked on Richie, mirroring each other’s looks- Richie was just shocked to see him, and Henry was shocked that he was seen at all. If only he could get out of the cabin in time, before Richie saw him.</p><p>	“Don’t say a word, fag,” Henry spat, before picking his bag up and storming out of the cabin. Both Richie and the fat kid watched him walk away until the door slammed shut again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>forgot to update for a few days again, sorry, heres ur chapter losers</p><p>sorry its short but im gonna update tomorrow for real</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry was at a loss. The lady in the office would not change his cabin number or put different people in his cabin, no matter how much he begged and pleaded with her. Her reasoning? “In the real world, you will have to get along with people, no matter how much you hate them.” Henry wanted to bash her ugly face in the desk she was sitting at, but he didn’t want to go to real jail, so he kept his calm.</p><p>	He wasn’t going to tell the lady that he used to beat Richie. He wasn’t going to tell the lady that he wanted to stop beating him, but he still wanted to be separated from Richie anyway, because he didn’t want to be nice, either. He wasn’t going to tell the lady that he felt guilty for everything he did to Richie. Instead, he was going to go back to the cabin he was assigned, take a shower, skip dinner, and spend the rest of his night under the covers, trying to think of a way to escape without being caught by the “country boy,” which he learned was actually one of the camp leaders, and not just a camp-ee. </p><p>	He went back into the cabin and slammed the bathroom door shut without making eye contact with Richie or the fat guy he was hanging out with. Henry figured Richie had already told the guy everything, and there was no point in talking to either of them now. Henry showered, brushed his teeth, and threw on some underwear and pajama pants, thanking God that Clarissa did wash his clothes before putting them in the bag. He also thanked God for the stick of deodorant that he found, although he wasn’t very religious. </p><p>	Henry left his bag by the front door, laying down on the bunk bed opposite of the one Richie and the fat guy were occupying, still refusing to make eye contact or say a word. He laid under the covers for a good three hours before falling asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No matter how much Henry and Richie hated camp, it went on.</p><p>	Two days had passed. Henry skipped on all of the “camp activities,” only attending lunch and dinner, considering how he woke up way too late to show up to breakfast. It didn’t matter if the camp leaders tried to wake everyone up at the beginning of the day, because Henry slept right through it. He was a heavy sleeper, and he knew that even if he wanted to wake up at 5 AM in the fucking morning, he wouldn’t be able to. This camp was more of a “fun camp” that bright-smiling parents sent their kids to in hopes they would have fun. It didn’t make sense why they sent him here if he was such a juvenile delinquent and his only other option was jail, but he wasn’t complaining. If Henry was capable of making friends, this would be less of a punishment and more of an escape from his father, although he was grateful to be away from him too. Henry might’ve made friends at the beginning of camp too, if he wasn’t cursed with two of the most unlikeable people in the world as cabin mates.</p><p>	On his second day, however, he found two new ways to entertain himself aside from sulking in bed and clamping his hands over his ears every time he heard the shrill giggles from the little fat boy that Richie had such a fun time doing stupid impressions for. The first new thing Henry did was look through Richie’s bag. Nothing too abnormal at first, but smuggled inside a pair of socks, he found it- two boxes of cigarettes and a lighter. Probably enough to last either of them a whole month. Henry took one box and the lighter, putting them in his own bag for later, although he hadn’t looked through all of the stuff Clarissa put in there either. Another thing he found in Richie’s bag was a notebook. Pencils, too. Inside the notebook were two drawings- he could make out the first drawing to be Beverly Marsh, the ginger girl he probably screwed around with back in Derry, but the second one was of a guy. It wasn’t finished yet, so Henry couldn’t make out who it was, but he thought it was pretty stupid anyway. </p><p>	The second way he passed time was from something he found in his own bag. A book, and a packet of questions he got from his english teacher last year. Originally, Henry decided he wasn’t going to do any of his summer reading, because he didn’t care if he failed. But it was a book, and even though he didn’t like reading, anything was better than laying underneath his covers and wishing he was somewhere in the woods hanging out with Vic and Belch.	</p><p>	Clarissa hadn’t given him a pencil, but it wasn’t like he was going to fill out the packet of questions anyway. He was going to read the book, even if it was the worst thing written in all of history. It was called The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and Henry wasn’t psyched to be reading something that had the word “flower” in the title, but again- when you’re bored out of your skull, you succumb to crazy things.</p><p>	Henry hadn’t even gotten through the fourth page when someone came into the room, pausing in the doorway and looking at Henry. It was Richie, smiling, his legs caked in mud. “I didn’t know you could read,” he snickered, before darting into the bathroom and locking the door to avoid whatever beating came after that remark. </p><p>	“Fuck off,” he muttered, glancing back down at his book and continuing to read. He wasn’t going to hurt Richie when he came out. Richie would rat on him, and he would be sent back home and thrown into prison for whatever heinous thing he and his buddies did back home. But would it be worse? He would most likely be with his friends, but he wasn’t sure how long his sentence would be if he chose jail instead.</p><p>	Richie opened the bathroom door and stood in the doorway, freshly showered and in a new set of clothes. He leaned against the doorframe and stared at Henry for a bit. Henry wasn’t sure what his motive was. “I don’t think, um… you’ll like that book,” Richie spoke up, taking a few brave steps forward. </p><p>	Henry looked up from the pages, annoyed yet intrigued at why he wouldn’t like a book about some stupid guy named Charlie. What could be so terrible about it, aside from how painfully boring it was? “Enlighten me,” he said stiffly, sitting up straight on the bed.</p><p>	This must have intimidated Richie, because he took a step back. “Oh, well, I just don’t think it… lines up with your political views. That’s all.” He took one last look at Henry before leaving the cabin again. Henry figured it was about time for lunch. That’s where Richie was going. He was not going to join them today.</p><p>	He scoffed and read the next two pages, wondering just how this book didn’t line up with his “political views.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the fourth day of camp, Henry made it to page 26 of the book. It wasn’t that he was having a difficult time reading or anything, he just wanted to take his time and cherish the one distraction he had available. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.</p><p>	Henry didn’t understand Charlie’s character entirely at that point, but that was fine. He had another 198 pages for that. As he read, he was interrupted by someone coming into the cabin, and he wasn’t sure who he would be most relieved to see- Richie, or a camp counselor, yelling at him to get out there and go canoeing with all of the other boys.</p><p>	Richie came in before Henry decided who he wanted to see least, and he locked himself in the bathroom to take another shower. He glared at the closed door before returning to his book, and he suddenly found himself amazed at his own actions. Sure, he threatened Richie a time or two, but never laid a hand on him so far- and a book? The only book he’d laid a finger on before The Perks of Being a Wallflower was The Mouse and the Motorcycle, his favorite book as a kid. Not that he had any other options for his “favorite.” </p><p>	When Richie came back out, Henry made it to page 28. He looked up again and narrowed his eyes, watching Richie walk across the room and plop down on the bottom bunk with a miserable look on his face. Henry could make out Richie’s hands shaking- maybe only slightly, but he could still notice it- and the thin paleness of his face. Was Richie that scared of him?</p><p>	After Henry watched him curl onto his side and pull his blanket over his shoulders, he figured Richie was just sick. He wasn’t sure how, but Richie fell asleep pretty quickly. Even Henry had trouble falling asleep when he knew his dad was in the living room, but here the two of them were, in the same exact room, right across from each other. No matter how much he thought about it, Richie slept on. Henry laid across from him, on his own bed, staring at him from a distance. Sure, they were pretty far apart, but all Henry had to do was sit up and lean forward with his arms stretched out and he could touch Richie. Not that he wanted to.</p><p>	Henry put his book down next to his side and stared at Richie. It was abnormal, staring right across the room at someone who he used to torment, without feeling the need to get up and strangle him in his sleep. He began to notice things he never noticed before, like how lifeless Richie’s face was when he wasn’t cracking a joke or crying after having his nose bloodied. Richie was always just talking, or laughing, or doing something. He wondered why Richie was so hyperactive.</p><p>	Richie didn’t snore. He made a different type of noise, something so quiet and so soft it could barely be considered a snore. Henry couldn’t describe the noise himself, even if he really, really wanted to. And Richie didn’t look so bug-eyed without his glasses on, either. Henry couldn’t remember if Richie took them off before he went to sleep or if he came out of the bathroom without them on, but it didn’t matter. </p><p>	Then, he really started thinking. Was Richie putting on an act? Was he truly as upset as Henry was? Henry didn’t think someone could put on an act like that since they met- in second grade- but Henry didn’t know what Richie went through.</p><p>	And then another thought. What if he never beat up the Losers in the first place? Would he have ever talked to Richie? Would they still hate each other? Would they have never met?</p><p>	Henry’s train of thought was interrupted by Richie’s movement. He was waking up. Henry wasn’t sure how much time he spent staring at him while he was sleeping, but he was putting an end to that right away. He picked up his book and opened it, pretending he was reading the whole time. </p><p>	If Richie noticed this, he didn’t give any sign of it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie woke up, and was pleased to find that Henry hadn’t killed him in his sleep, and that he didn’t puke all over himself either. His hands were clammy and his head foggy, but he wasn’t just going to lay there and feel bad for himself. Richie looked across the room, over at Henry. He had been invested in his book the whole time, although he didn’t make it that far in yet, and decided that if Henry hadn’t killed him at this point, he definitely wasn’t going to anytime soon. He was safe, until he crossed some sort of line. Richie wondered what that line would be.</p><p>	He leaned over the side of the bed and shuffled around in his bag until he found what he was looking for- his notebook and a pencil. Richie didn’t consider himself good at drawing, but he did it often anyway, so why not do it at camp? He didn’t expect to be stuck in bed with a sudden illness, but he was glad he brought the notebook anyway.</p><p>	With Henry completely off his mind, he flipped back and forth between the first two pages, trying to decide which one he should continue on. He was drawing the Losers, and had made good progress on Beverly’s picture, but soon after he had started a sad attempt at what would’ve been Stanley, if Richie had any artistic talent at all. He didn’t, though, so he flipped to a blank page, deciding to give up on Stanley and start on Ben. Stanley’s face was too… intricate for Richie, even if he did spend a good amount of time staring at him.</p><p>	So he put a few stray marks on the paper, deciding what position Ben would be in- sitting, standing?- and for a while he felt pretty confident about how Ben’s drawing would turn out. As he made rough lines and sketches of Ben’s body, sudden movement came from Henry’s side of the room.</p><p>	Richie looked up from his drawing, too mentally foggy to even act frightened. Henry was laying on his back, his book closed on the floor. Henry was staring at him.</p><p>	He stared back, but wasn’t scared. Not yet. He was only curious.</p><p>	“You didn’t tell me there was a fag in this book, Tozier.”</p><p>	Richie squinted and shifted his head on his pillow, looking down at his legs to avoid eye contact with Henry. “I said you wouldn’t like it.” Richie had remembered reading that book for the first time in sixth grade, and he considered it his favorite. The fag Henry was referring to had to be Patrick.</p><p>	The mattress squeaked, and Richie looked up and watched as Henry approached him. Henry was standing right in front of him now. Richie could reach out and punch him right in the balls, if he had the grit. He wasn’t sure he did. The two of them were stuck together in the cabin, and Richie knew that for a fact, because whatever measures Henry had taken on the first day to separate him from Richie didn’t work. “You drawing the fat boy?” This time Henry’s tone was different. It was like his mother asking if he wanted mashed potatoes or steamed broccoli as a side for dinner. </p><p>	Slowly, Richie moved his head to face Henry, finally making eye contact. “What’s your interest with fags?” he said slowly, smiling weakly after he finished his question. A sad attempt at a joke. Richie could be on his deathbed for all he knew- Henry or the sickness could kill him in an instant.</p><p>	“I’m-” Henry started, shaking his head at Richie angrily. “I’m not interested in fags, Tozier.”</p><p>	“Okay, H-H-Henry,” he retorted, mocking the way Henry used to make fun of Bill back in Derry. Richie laid back down on his bed with half-lidded eyes. Was he playing with fire here? How was he supposed to be acting towards Henry? Richie didn’t care for what would happen next, he only hoped that the mocking would piss Henry off. </p><p>	And it did. “I could kill you, so you better fucking stuff it,” Henry replied alarmingly fast, before turning and leaving the cabin. That was the first time Henry left since he came in, and Richie expected to be relieved at finally being alone. It was the opposite. He felt a gaping pit at the bottom of his stomach, but he only pulled his blanket higher and shut his eyes, hoping to fall asleep soon.</p><p>	Richie didn’t remember falling asleep, but he did. Because when he woke up, Henry was back in his bed reading, and something was in front of him on the bed. Richie rubbed his eyes and picked it up. A s’more, the chocolate still melting and dripping down the side, so he knew it had to be from Henry. Why the fuck would Henry do that? An off-hand way of trying to kill him?</p><p>	Richie ate it, not caring if Henry poisoned it or if he would just puke it all back up twenty minutes later. And he stared at Henry the whole time he ate.</p><p>	Henry didn’t look up from the book once.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Eight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie did not die from the s’more that Henry gave him, and he actually got a lot better after taking some antibiotics from the nurse. Camp days went on normally, yet without him- and the other friend he made in his cabin. The chubby one that Richie found some comfort in, as he reminded him of Ben. The boy was gone, though, and although Richie wasn’t entirely sure where he went, he knew it wasn’t a medical emergency. If it was, someone would’ve told him- or he would’ve been there to see it.</p><p>	As Richie’s physical illness subsided, a new one formed. This time it was mental. He was convinced he was going crazy, noticing how he would miss Henry when he was out of the room, and be either comforted or deathly terrified when Henry was in the room. Richie could barely grasp why he felt this way, or whatever was happening to him- was he simply adapting to being around Henry, or was it something else? Did he have Stockholm Syndrome, or worse, a completely normal crush?</p><p>	He didn’t know what to make of it at first, and decided not to jump to conclusions too early. Richie knew that the atmosphere surrounding both of them was weird, and he figured Henry was just as confused as he was. </p><p>	Richie confirmed these suspicions by their interactions. The “fag book,” the s’more- both of those incidents contradicted each other. He thought back to when he was in Derry, hunted like a stray deer by a pack of wolves by Henry Bowers and his friends, but now they were almost completely at peace with being around each other. Well, Richie could never say for sure how Henry felt, but Richie knew that Henry wouldn’t hurt him. There wasn’t much to support this feeling, but he didn’t like going by the facts. Richie trusted in his gut, and usually, his gut was right.</p><p>	Another interaction Henry made with him further drove Richie out of his mind as he tried to figure out what to make of it. It was a normal camp day, where the other boys played football outside and ate lunch and swam around in the lake, while Richie had to stay cooped up in the cabin. His illness wasn’t completely gone at this point, as he was still prone to fits of nausea and cold sweating, so he decided to play it safe and stay inside to draw. After putting the finishing touches on Ben, he flipped the page. Richie didn’t draw anything, though. A shadow loomed over him and his paper. </p><p>	Flipping over on his side, he looked up at Henry and furrowed his eyebrows, again curious at whatever snarky comment he was going to get from him. </p><p>	“I saw your drawings before. They were good.”</p><p>	Richie’s expression softened, from that of an angry glare to slight disbelief. “Oh. They’re not supposed to be good,” he blurted out, unable to take any compliments that Henry gave him.</p><p>	“Really? Then why do you try so hard?” Henry asked, without a trace of stiffness in his voice. These were words he wanted to say, things he wanted to get out- but why? Richie could see Henry forcing himself to play nice, but Richie read people easily. Henry was difficult to understand, but now he had extensive amounts of time to observe Henry. Not that any of it helped, because Richie was still baffled at some of the things Henry did around him. Especially now.</p><p>	Richie thought for a second, knowing now that Henry wouldn’t shut down the entire conversation if he took a second too long to answer. “Because they’re for them. Um, them, I mean- the Losers,” he explained, looking up at Henry to see what his next move was.</p><p>	“Oh,” Henry replied simply, going to sit back down in his bed. Richie looked down at his empty paper once again, upset that the conversation had ended so quickly. He wanted more out of Henry. He wanted to finally understand him.</p><p>	But then he spoke again. “You seem like you feel better.”</p><p>	“I do,” Richie smiled, not even waiting to see if Henry said anything else before he turned around and laid on his back, staring at the wooden frame supporting the mattress above him, soon in deep thought. Why was Henry making this small talk? Why was he choosing to talk about the drawings specifically, instead of something else- like apologizing for what he did back in Derry?</p><p>	He shook his head lightly, thinking even harder about Henry with half-lidded eyes. Maybe Henry just wasn’t sorry for what he did.</p><p>	Or maybe Henry was sorry, and he just didn’t know how to say it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Nine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Bowers. You need to get out there on the field, you can’t just stay inside all day.”</p><p>	Henry looked up from his book. He continued to read it, even if he was disgusted by it. It was the only thing he had to pass the time. “I don’t want to, I feel sick. I think I have what my roommate had a few days ago.”</p><p>	The camp counselor didn’t believe him for a minute. “Get out there and play soccer with the rest of the guys, or we’ll call your parents up here to take you home, if you think you’re that sick.” The man paused. “Or you could go to the nurse.”</p><p>	He put his book down on his bed and stood up, knowing that if his father was called to pick him up, he was getting his ass beat. His dad never believed him when he really was sick, so why would Butch believe him when he was faking? Soccer sounded terrible at the moment, but he needed to get out there and pretend he cared for a while so the counselors wouldn’t notice when he disappeared again. There were tons of boys at this camp, and Henry didn’t know how somebody cared to even find him. Did Richie rat him out? Or their other roommate, the fat kid? Henry didn’t know his name, and he hadn’t seen him at the cabin since their third day, but he could’ve just been moved to another cabin. </p><p>	He walked down to the empty, grassy field and watched the teams play, before another counselor tapped him on the shoulder and pointed him to one side of the field. “You need to be on that team. They’re one short.” Henry nodded and went over to the farthest side of the soccer field, dreading the time when he would actually have to do something with the ball. He didn’t care about soccer, he didn’t even know how to play- what he really liked was football and baseball. Henry used to play baseball with his dad when he was younger, and it was always fun…. and his dad invited a lot of people over to watch the Superbowl on Sundays. He always got to join them, sitting on the arm of the couch with half a can of beer in his hand, pretending like he was one of them. His dad never paid attention to him then, he couldn’t, with all of the other guys around. That’s what made it so good. Henry loved sports… just not this one. Soccer was a pussy’s hobby. Something Richie probably enjoys, he thought to himself.</p><p>	Henry was lost in thought, and he hadn’t moved a muscle before the “referee” (one of the camp leaders) blew her whistle and called that some kids needed to switch teams. Henry watched as a couple of kids scrambled around, got the ball and went to the opposite side of the field. Henry couldn’t see Richie, but he knew Richie would be on the opposite team somewhere.</p><p>	Why do I care?</p><p>	That’s right, Henry didn’t care, and he didn’t need to worry about Richie at all. He dismissed his thoughts by reassuring himself that Richie was the only person he knew at this camp. That’s why he was wondering, and not for any other reason.</p><p>	The lady blew her whistle once again, and the new game started. Kids from both sides scrambled for the ball, and Henry could make out the goalie on the opposite side kicking dirt off of his shoes, preparing himself. Henry moved as far away from the ball and the attacking cluster of kids around it, ending up on the right side of the field, near all of the trees and shrubbery. He took a look into the bushes, and then over at the counselors- if they weren’t paying attention, he could hide in the woods and get away with it. Henry turned around and looked behind him, and sure enough, the woods outlined the entire camp. He could make it back to his own cabin if he was good enough at directions and didn’t get lost.</p><p>	The ball had come near him, and while he was off staring into the woods, everyone ran towards him in a flurry of panic, the opposite team trying to kick the ball into his team’s goal. Henry got knocked to the ground, as did a few other kids, and he was thankful he didn’t get his neck stepped on or worse. He looked over toward the woods again, and saw Richie. He’d also fallen down.</p><p>	Henry stood up and stared at him, glad that the ball was on the other side of the field now. Richie wasn’t moving. He moved closer, cringing as he felt the sweat drip down the back of his shirt, when he saw something. </p><p>	Was that blood?</p><p>	Henry turned Richie over as gently as he could, and he knew Richie was awake now, but not for long. Richie had blood all over his left side, and Henry immediately knew why. He had fallen on a rock, the sharp edge cutting his side right open. Only Richie could have such bad luck. Anyone else, and they would’ve missed the rock and ended up in the grass. He knew he had to do something.</p><p>	Richie pushed Henry away, trying to get up, and made a panicked noise when he lifted his arm and saw blood gushing out of him.</p><p>-</p><p>	“Aw, honey!” the nurse exclaimed after she peeled Henry’s damp shirt from around Richie’s chest. Henry was now shirtless, standing in the middle of the nurses’ exam room with Richie’s head resting on his chest. It wasn’t something he ever saw happening before coming to camp.</p><p>	The nurse left Richie’s side and searched around in some cabinets, grabbing a bunch of seemingly random things. And then Henry saw it. The nurse was getting ready to give him stitches.</p><p>	In a fit of panic, Henry had taken off his own shirt and tied it around Richie’s gash back down at the field. Something he assumed people would do in movies, and even though Henry wasn’t a medical expert, he was right. The shirt blocked the flow of blood, and Henry was glad to know that what he did worked. Richie was in and out of consciousness the whole time he carried Richie up to the nurse, and now he seemed to be unconscious again. That was good. He wouldn’t feel the stitches, Henry thought.</p><p>	He remembered the look on everyone’s faces as Henry helped him up and off of the field- some people had yelled at him. Some people told him to get back in the game. They were all idiots for not seeing the blood.</p><p>The nurse pulled Richie’s shirt off of him and went in with the tweezers, picking out little bits of rocks and dirt and grass. Henry cringed watching this, but he knew that he did way worse things to Richie back in Derry. A twang of guilt kicked in, and Henry cringed harder, thinking about the time he rubbed snow on Stanley Uris’ face until it was bright red.</p><p>She went on to disinfect Richie’s wound, and last, she stitched him up. “He’s going to have to stay here a while. Are you okay with standing there? If we put him on his side, he might roll over, and that could make it worse.”</p><p>Henry didn’t even stop to think before he nodded.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Ten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he woke up, Richie assumed his illness had started again, because he immediately leaned over his mattress and vomited all over the hardwood floor.</p><p>	It was dark in the room, but Richie could sense something- someone- moving closer to him. It had to be Henry, or maybe he was somewhere else. Richie let go of the mattress and let his arm fall back to his side, when he felt something sharp and pointy. He whimpered and tore his arm away, feeling a sharp pain come up from his side and end in his neck. </p><p>	Richie started to cry. He was nauseous and couldn’t find out why he had such a terrible, throbbing pain coming from his side. It was hot inside the cabin, too, and while everyone expected it to cool down in the night, it didn’t do that. It remained equally as hot and humid during the night as it did during the day. That didn’t help the nausea or the pain.</p><p>	He felt arms around him, and he inhaled- he wasn’t sure who it was or what was happening, but he knew in his gut it had to be Henry. Richie sobbed harder and tried to pull away, but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. Did Henry hurt him while he was sleeping? That would explain the pain, but not whatever sharp metal thing had poked him. It didn’t explain the nausea, though, or why Richie couldn’t remember going to sleep in the first place. Had Henry stabbed him with… a… double edged knife? He knew he was being stupid, but that was the only thing that made sense. Richie didn’t feel any blood leaking, though, and it couldn’t have dried and gotten all crusty, because...</p><p>	“I’m helping you get to the nurse. Come on.”</p><p>	Richie had no choice but to go with Henry, so he leaned into him, hot tears spilling down his face as Henry tried to help him get up. Walking wasn’t so hard, surprisingly- it was everything else that was difficult. Like keeping his balance, or not falling over into the puddle of vomit that just came from his mouth.</p><p>	He wasn’t sure how Henry did it, but he got him outside, into the disgusting humid night. They walked across camp with Richie’s right arm barely clutching onto Henry’s shoulders, and Henry’s arm under Richie’s armpit. He was surprised to find that Henry wasn’t touching the pointy metal thing that was coming out of him. It was like Henry knew it was there. But if Henry hurt him sometime during his sleep, why was he helping him?</p><p>	The realness of the situation finally kicked in, and Richie was still trying to comprehend everything by the time Henry was knocking on the nurses’ cabin. The door opened, and the light flickered on. The nurse was still in her robe, and Richie felt bad for waking her up in her sleep, even though he knew he needed help. </p><p>	Henry helped him to the bed in the middle of the room, and Richie lifted his arm, seeing what had been so pointy earlier. He had stitches in his side.</p><p>	He looked up at Henry with fear in his eyes. “What the fuck did you do to me? Why did you…” his voice wavered from how hard he was crying before. Richie couldn’t finish his sentence, because he was crying again, still leaning on Henry for support. He saw something on the ground. Henry’s shirt, that was all bloody and crumpled. Richie looked over at Henry and wondered what happened, since Henry looked completely fine. </p><p>	“He didn’t do anything to you, hun,” the nurse spoke up as she sat down in her chair, across from Richie. “You don’t remember?”</p><p>	Henry’s nose crinkled up, as if he was disgusted by something. Richie just couldn’t put the pieces together. Henry had to do something to him, or else he wouldn’t be in so much pain… </p><p>	“He puked,” Henry finally spoke. Richie noticed that Henry was shirtless. Whatever happened had to be recent, or else he would’ve put a new shirt on. And then, Richie felt stupid for not realizing it earlier, but he was shirtless too. He could conclude that the nurse gave him stitches, but nothing else. Aside from the shirtlessness.</p><p>	“I see. Does it hurt? The stitches?”</p><p>	Richie chewed on his bottom lip and nodded, another round of tears spilling from his eyes. He expected the nurse to give him a shot of some kind- to numb it. That made sense to him.</p><p>	Instead, she disappeared into a back room and came out with two bottles of pills. She poured Richie a cup of water and offered it to him. Richie made no attempt to move, so Henry took it instead. Richie looked up at him.</p><p>	Henry was staring right back down at him. The nurse stood in front of the two boys, holding something in her hand. “You should be thankful for this young man. He likely saved your life, you know that?” she spoke.</p><p>	Richie looked at her, his eyes widening, but he didn’t say anything. Henry saved his life? That had to be a lie. </p><p>	In her hand, she had two pills. Both of them were white, but varying sizes- the first one looked like a normal pill, a slight groove in the middle of it. The other one was small, like a fish food pellet. “Take these, you’ll feel better.” </p><p>	Richie opened his mouth and let her put the pills in. He wasn’t going to object. If anything in the world could make him feel less shitty, he was taking it. Henry tilted the cup to his lips, and Richie swallowed the pills and the water. “The first one was oxycodone, that one is for pain, and the second one is ondansetron. That’ll stop your nausea, hopefully,” and then she giggled, as if Richie wasn’t swallowing a percocet and in immense pain. </p><p>	He was still clueless to what happened, and why he had stitches, but neither of them seemed to want to explain anything to him. The nurse handed Henry two pill bottles, both filled to the rim, and Henry put them in his pocket. Richie felt like a kid, being taken to the doctor by his dad, who wouldn’t explain what the fuck happened to him and why he needed stitches. It angered Richie, really- why did the nurse decide that Henry should be in charge of his medicine? It wasn’t like Richie was mentally incompetent or anything. Knowing Henry, he might take the oxycodone himself.</p><p>	“If you boys don’t need anything else, I suggest you go back to sleep. Richie, I don’t think you should move around very much, so your stitches will heal. Henry will bring you food, so you don’t need to worry about anything.”</p><p>	Richie looked up and glared at Henry, not saying a word. Henry didn’t seem to notice, because he was busy nodding at the nurse.</p><p>	Once they were back in the cabin, Richie decided to test his limits again.</p><p>	“Henry,” he whined, standing in the middle of the cabin with Henry’s arm still around him. Someone had cleaned up the vomit in their cabin, which Richie was grateful for.</p><p>	“What?”</p><p>	“I don’t want to be alone.” Richie couldn’t believe he said it, but he didn’t regret it, either. If this worked, it would be a miracle.</p><p>	Richie felt Henry’s grasp on him shift, and now Henry was supporting him with both arms. “You’re not. You want me to go get her again?”</p><p>	Henry always had to be so difficult, and Richie hated it. “No. I mean, when I’m sleeping.” He sounded needy, and he knew it. But he was needy. That was the thing. “Don’t get her.”</p><p>	Everything seemed to click for Henry, because he helped Richie to the opposite side of the room and let Richie lay down on his bed. Richie’s breathing quickened, and in that moment he knew what he had was a crush. As fucked up and twisted as it was, he couldn’t help it. He felt Henry’s weight on the bed next to him. Henry was laying down with him.</p><p>	“Thanks,” Richie barely got out, wanting desperately to push his limits even further and move closer to Henry, but he was scared.</p><p>	He learned to live with the distance between them. After all, that might change soon… if he were lucky. Or would that be unlucky?</p><p>	Richie didn’t know. The percocet was kicking in and he felt like he was swimming in a sea of his own sweat. Before he knew it, he was out like a light.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Eleven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry woke up to something heavy and wet on his chest.</p><p>His head frantically shot up, to see Richie’s arm around him, his head resting right on Henry’s stomach. Even worse, Richie drooled in his sleep. Henry wasn’t sure which was more disgusting, but in his mind, it had to be Richie sleeping with him. In the same bed as him, next to him- on top of him. Kind of. Henry wanted to shove him off of the side of the bed and bash his ugly little face in for moving even a sliver closer to him in his sleep, but something told him not to.</p><p>While being as still as possible, he observed Richie. If he hurt Richie in any way, he knew he’d be sent right back home. Henry’s mind had changed over the last few days, and now he realized that dealing with Richie wasn’t nearly as bad as dealing with his father. Still, he didn’t want Richie this close to him, especially considering they were both half-naked.</p><p>Henry seemed to forget where he was and just exactly who was drooling all over him, and his mind began to wander. No, he didn’t want to go back home by any means. He would do whatever he had to do to stay in camp, even if he had to befriend Richie. Henry was working on his acting skills, having lied to the police and his teachers millions of times before, but never having to lie to someone his own age. He was scared Richie would see right through him, but he knew Richie wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, either.</p><p>Maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe Richie was putting up an act, acting stupid and reckless so nobody would realize how smart he was. He thought back to when Richie pleaded that Henry let him sleep in his bed, and that thought alone confirmed Henry’s own theory. Richie had some type of crush on him, and that was a ploy to get closer to him. Another thing- cutting himself on a rock. What if Richie fell deliberately, just while he was close, so Henry would help him up? Richie might not have anticipated being cut by the rock, but Henry fell for it anyway. </p><p>He didn’t realize how crazy he sounded in his own mind until he put this all into perspective. No, Richie wouldn’t like him. Who would have a crush on someone that tormented him? Someone that couldn’t even stand up to his own father? Not that Richie would know about that last part, but maybe he did. Rumors spread, maybe through his friends, maybe through other people. </p><p>The truth was, Henry had no clue exactly how Richie felt about him. He clearly wasn’t scared of Henry, if he had the balls to talk back to him and know that he wouldn’t be getting hurt. Hell, they were sleeping in the same bed right now, and Henry could kill Richie in his sleep with one swift movement. Did Richie hate him? Or was he just as curious about Henry as he was about him?</p><p>Then, Henry saw movement. Or, he could’ve swore he did. Henry narrowed his eyes, trying to detect any changes in Richie’s face. He wasn’t that bad looking without the glasses, Henry thought to himself. Not in a gay way, of course. Just a… general thought. And if Richie wasn’t such a fucking loser, an impulsive, reckless idiot…</p><p>Richie was awake. He lifted his head, gave one final, scared look at Henry, before leaning over the side of the bed and puking out what little he’d eaten in the past few days.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Twelve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After giving Richie another pill and taking him to the nurse, Richie settled back into their cabin, on Henry’s bed.</p><p>	Considering what happened the night before, Henry shouldn’t be bothered by it. But he was. After his mini-crisis that he had just before Richie woke up, he wasn’t sure what to think of their relationship, if they even had one. Were they friends, or still enemies?</p><p>	Henry decided to just suck it up and ask. He sat down next to Richie, who was once again laying on his stomach, pencil in hand, working on another drawing. He noticed this before he could say anything, and found himself distracted by Richie’s work. Richie wasn’t good at a lot of things in life, including keeping his mouth shut, but drawing? Richie was good at drawing, even if he denied it while looking at his other drawings before.</p><p>	He forgot what he was doing in the first place when Richie finished his drawing and flipped the page, craning his neck to look back at Henry. “Do you want me to draw you now? I can.”</p><p>	At first, he couldn’t form words. Sure, it would be interesting to see how Richie saw him, but did he really want to know? </p><p>	Of course he wanted to know. That’s what he was doing before he got distracted by Richie’s drawing. He wanted to know how Richie felt about them- if they were acquaintances, or even friends. Henry wasn’t sure what answer he wanted in response, but he could probably handle whatever Richie said back to him. “If- uh-” Henry spat out, breaking eye contact with Richie to look down at the empty notepad. “If you want,” he said quietly.</p><p>	What the hell was that? Why did he suddenly act so… nervous? So submissive? Henry wasn’t either of those things. He was just caught off guard, that was it. That had to be it.</p><p>	Almost immediately, Richie turned back to his empty page and started drawing. Henry didn’t know what Richie would do. Accurately draw him, or purposefully make him malformed, like an inbred? If Richie did the latter, Henry knew he deserved it. Way worse than that, actually.</p><p>	He hated to admit it, but yes- everything he did to Richie back in Derry was horrible, and he was realizing that now. Thinking about it made him feel like shit. But Richie didn’t seem to be angry with him anymore. Henry wasn’t sure how he was able to do that. To forgive him. If his father started straightening up, Henry wouldn’t forgive him after all that he’d done, and that was a fact. </p><p>	Richie wasn’t too far into the drawing before muttering a quick, “I’m tired.” He folded his glasses and set them on top of the notebook, letting the pencil fall from his hand and roll towards his chest. Henry watched in silence, still baffled at the fact that Richie felt like this was his bed. That it was normal to share a bed with anyone, let alone another boy. Did Richie do this at sleepovers, with his loser friends? Were they all gay? Was their group a gay cult, with one girl thrown into the mix to avoid suspicion? No, there were barely any gay people in Derry. Richie wasn’t gay, and neither were any of the Losers, although Henry had his own suspicions about the Jew.</p><p>	Just like that, Richie was asleep. Henry picked up his notebook, pencil, and glasses, setting them on the bedside table closest to him. He wasn’t tired, and he didn’t know any other way to pass the time. He watched Richie.</p><p>	Nobody could say shit about it.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Thirteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>might have slow updates for personal reasons but i will try to keep posting once every day</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the threat of going back to Derry grew closer, Richie started to wonder what would become of him and Henry when they returned. He spent a good amount of time thinking about how it used to be in Derry, and ultimately came to this realization- the worst part wasn’t getting hurt by the Bowers gang. It was watching his friends get hurt, and not being able to do anything about it.</p><p>	Richie wasn’t sure if Henry would just avoid him after they went back home, or if everything would go on as normal. He hoped things didn’t go back to the way they used to be. Richie would actually be happy if Henry wanted to maintain a “friendship,” or whatever type of relationship the two shared now. Even if he had to keep it a secret from the Losers, he would be happy with it. He didn’t want to pretend like nothing happened during summer camp.</p><p>	Then, Richie thought of a plan. Maybe he could talk to Henry and offer him something: Henry could do whatever he wanted to Richie, beat him, hurt him, anything- as long as he kept his hands off of the other Losers. Richie didn’t like the idea of getting hurt, but that was a small price to pay for his friends’ safety. Would Henry take this deal? Probably not. If Henry did take the deal, would he stick to it, and stay away from the Losers? Richie didn’t know. But there was only one way to find out.</p><p>	Richie decided to share his idea about the deal one day after Henry got out of the shower. The two of them shared a bed now, but it was an unspoken rule to not talk about it. Still, Richie enjoyed being in his presence, and he surprisingly wasn’t scared of him at all. </p><p>	He had been laying on the bed, working on his drawing of Henry, when Henry came out of the bathroom. Richie flipped the page and pretended like he was working on a drawing of Bill, looking up at him. The drawing didn’t look so good now, and he didn’t want Henry to see it prematurely. “Hey, I need to talk to you.”</p><p>	Henry looked at him and approached the bed hesitantly. Richie wished he could read minds, or even facial expressions, for that matter. But he couldn’t do either, at least not very well, so he had to just assume how Henry was feeling at any given time. “About?” Henry asked. Henry wasn’t big on talking, and Richie wished he was a little more outgoing, but the mystery was… charming, in a way.</p><p>	“I’ll make a deal with you.” Richie accidentally swallowed his spit, his eyes locked on Henry. Henry was digging through his bag for something, and Richie knew he was just trying to avoid looking at him. “If you… um, when we go back to Derry, if you leave my friends alone, I’ll let you hurt me. But you have to leave them alone. And if I find out you did something to one of them, the deal is off.” He wanted to add something like, if you take the deal and don’t hold up your end I’ll kill you, but Henry hadn’t been violent with him at all since camp, and he wanted him to take this deal. He had to play nice.</p><p>	Henry stared at him, narrowing his eyes. “No.” He looked back into his duffel bag and pulled out a stick of deodorant. “I’m not taking it.”</p><p>	Richie wasn’t sure why he didn’t take it. What else did Henry want? “Why? I can add more. Um, if you take it.”</p><p>	Henry didn’t look amused at all. He just shook his head, the same neutral expression on his face that he had ever since he came out of the bathroom. Richie felt frustrated. What part did Henry not like? Did he need variety in his victims or something? Or was he planning to stop terrorizing the Losers entirely?</p><p>	“Why?” Richie asked again. He deserved an answer.</p><p>	“I just don’t want to.” Henry’s demeanor remained neutral. </p><p>	Richie let his head plop back down onto his pillow. If they were “friends” now, which Richie totally didn’t think was the case, did that mean that Henry didn’t want to hurt him? </p><p>	Was Henry planning something of his own? </p><p>	He turned on his side- the one opposite of his scar- and huffed.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Fourteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  Before Henry knew it, he was in his father’s car, on his way back to Derry. </p><p>	He did a lot of thinking on that car ride, and once he got home and into his room, he did a lot of thinking there, too. The majority of his thoughts revolved around Richie, but there were other people in the equation. Like his father, and Victor, and Belch. He even thought about the Losers once or twice. But again, Richie was the center of his thoughts at the moment. </p><p>	Henry thought Richie was crazy for thinking of a deal like that. Even crazier for actually proposing it, saying it out loud. As crazy as it was, though, Henry found it kind of admirable. </p><p>  But Richie thought Henry would go back to his old ways. He was questioning that now. He actually started to… like Richie, during camp. Henry couldn’t recall when that happened. Was it during the time Richie got hurt and needed stitches? Or did it happen before that?</p><p>	Or, was it sometime before camp even started in the first place? Did Henry feel that way before they got closer?</p><p>	He laid on his bed in the dark. Henry’s room felt empty, now that Clarissa had gone through and cleaned all of the dirty clothes he had on the floor and around his bed. He turned his head slightly to the right and saw all of his clothes neatly folded, sitting in a laundry basket. Did she seriously expect him to hang them up in his closet, or put them in a dresser?</p><p>	Henry shut his eyes and went back to thinking. He missed Richie, badly. Or maybe he just missed Richie’s company. He wasn’t sure which, but he needed to see him again, and soon. Henry dug through his bag from camp and pulled out the book that he stopped reading. The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Henry remembered things from it, like Patrick, the gay one. The one that reminded him of Richie.</p><p>	He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and throw the book as hard as he could across his bedroom, but he decided not to. Instead, he started to read, using what little light came through the window to see the pages.</p><p>	Henry had finished the whole book before midnight. And after he finished it, he read it again, and again, until he fell asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Fifteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just shut up and get the door already! Or I’ll do it for you.”</p><p>	Richie groaned and set down his controller. “I was going to! Chill, jeez!” he snapped, standing up and narrowly avoiding tripping over a cord and sending their whole video game console crashing to the ground. It had only been a day since Richie had come back from camp, and the Losers were thrilled to see him again, but Stanley was the only one who could hang out that day. That was perfectly fine with Richie. The two spent all of last night playing video games and eating junk food, before hitting a sugar crash and falling asleep. Both boys were pretty worn out, but somebody had to answer the door, and Richie’s parents were out somewhere.</p><p>	He trudged his way down the first five stairs or so, before grabbing the rails and hoisting himself down about three stairs at a time. Richie assumed a volunteer from his old church was knocking. They did that every so often, since Richie had stopped attending a year and a half ago.</p><p>	Richie opened the door and was flooded with a range of emotions once he saw Henry Bowers. His initial thought was that someone had sent him over to apologize for something Henry did to him before camp, but that was not the case.</p><p>	“Hey,” Henry said. Richie could tell that Henry had put some amount of effort into how he looked, but that didn’t make up for how rough he sounded. Henry looked rough in the face, too- like he’d missed out on countless nights of sleep, even if they had only been back for a day. He had brushed his hair and put on clothes that actually fit him, though, which surprised Richie.</p><p>	Richie leaned against the doorframe and looked over his shoulder, up the stairs. Stanley wasn’t watching, so Richie assumed he couldn’t hear them speak from where he was sitting. That was good. Richie didn’t tell any of the Losers what happened over the course of camp, and they hadn’t made a trip to the Quarry yet, which was for the best. He didn’t know how he would explain the stretched out scar.</p><p>	To be on the safe side, Richie stepped outside of his house and closed the door behind him.</p><p>	“I needed to see you,” Henry went on. There were bags under his eyes- not deep, though. A recent development. “Um, I didn’t take the deal because I didn’t want to hurt you.”</p><p>	Richie wasn’t surprised. If Henry wanted to hurt him, he had plenty of time and opportunities to do that in their cabin. He was surprised, though, to hear that Henry wanted to talk to him. Henry wanted to be around him.</p><p>	“Oh. You don’t want to hurt me? What about, um… them? Everyone else?”</p><p>	“I’m not going to do it anymore.” Richie nodded, but wished Henry would talk more. Whenever they spoke, the conversations were always stiff. Forced. </p><p>	Richie thought of something. “Hang on. Stay here, I need to do something.” He opened the door and tore off into his house.</p><p>	He came into his bedroom and dove into his bag from camp, glad that he hadn’t unpacked yet. Richie grabbed his notebook and rushed back down the stairs, ignoring any questions or concerns from Stanley while he did so. This was important.</p><p>	Richie had finished his drawing of Henry on his drive home from camp, and he was proud of it. Really, really proud of it. He hoped Henry would like it as much as he did. Once he got back onto his front porch, he tore the page from his notebook and offered it to Henry. “This is for you.” Richie felt dumb saying it, because it was obvious, but Henry wasn’t making any attempt to take it so he felt like he needed to speak.</p><p>	After some awkward silence, Henry took the paper into his hands and studied the drawing. </p><p>	“Why am I hot?” he said after more uncomfortable silence. </p><p>	Richie laughed nervously, remembering the time he drew it… he wasn’t… trying to make Henry hot. He was just drawing him from memory. “Uh… it’s not?”</p><p>	Henry smiled, though, and held the drawing back out to Richie. “It’s really good. Sorry.”</p><p>	“Um, what? Sorry for what? It’s for you.”</p><p>	Henry took a moment to think before nodding and letting his arm drop down to his side. “Just sorry. For everything.” Richie hoped what he saw in his face was guilt, but he knew it couldn’t have been anything else.</p><p>	“It’s okay.”</p><p>	The two of them stood there for a while, looking at each other and then looking away. This went on until Richie wildly thought back to Stanley, who was all alone upstairs, and could decide to stand up and look out of the window at any time. “Are we friends? We need to be friends,” he blurted. It came out needy and rushed, but that was the only way he knew he could get it out. </p><p>	Henry must have thought about this on his own, because he had an answer for it straight away. “Yeah.” Henry paused. “Yeah. If you want us to be. Um, if not, I’ll just leave you… alone. I’ll stay out of your way.” He was staring down at the pavement on Richie’s front porch, awaiting his answer.</p><p>	“Yeah. We’re friends.” Richie punched him in the arm lightly and smiled, hoping Henry would lighten up or even smile back. “But Stanley’s inside right now. You wanna, uh…” Richie paused, trying to think of a subtle way to meet Henry somewhere. If they never made plans, he wasn’t sure that he would ever see Henry again. Unless they saw each other in town, but Richie couldn’t pray on luck. “I’ll talk to you later today, if you want.”</p><p>	“Oh. Where?” Henry’s facial expression did not change, but Richie could sense a shift somewhere.</p><p>	“Um. We don’t need to be seen with each other. You can sneak out at night?”</p><p>	Henry nodded.</p><p>	“Uh.. eleven. Behind the Aladdin? Or something?” It felt stupid, suggesting they meet up behind the Aladdin. But both of their houses were risky, and Richie knew that. He couldn’t just tell him to meet up somewhere in the Barrens at night time, there was no chance they’d find each other.</p><p>	Henry smiled, but Richie couldn’t tell if it was forced, or something else. A different kind of smile he’d never seen before? “I can do that. I’ll bring cigarettes if you bring a lighter.”</p><p>	Richie nodded and returned the smile. “Now get home. Fast,” he said, pushing open the door and stepping back inside his living room. </p><p>	He stayed at the door, though, watching Henry from the peephole. He wasn’t sure why he did this, but he knew he could see people do pretty stupid things when someone thought nobody was watching them. It was usually funny, like seeing one of the Losers pick their nose or his mom talk to herself like a maniac while she was cooking.</p><p>	Henry stood at the porch for a brief moment, his eyes back on the pavement. He lifted his arm to look at the drawing again.</p><p>	Henry grinned. He was fucking beaming. Richie watched until Henry left his porch, without realizing that he was grinning, too.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Sixteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey! Hey, guys. Sorry I took forever.” Richie rushed to climb down the ladder of their clubhouse and join the other Losers for the evening.</p><p>	Over the last few weeks, Richie had been meeting up with Henry almost daily. It was risky, and both of them knew it. Henry always had to do chores for his father, and the Losers wanted to hang out pretty much all day every day. Richie started to make up excuses, like his father forcing him to mow the lawn, or fetch the newspaper from the corner store because the incompetent newspaper boy never managed to get one to them. The lies wouldn’t hold up forever, though, and Richie knew it.</p><p>	He was mentally preparing to tell the Losers what he was doing with Henry. Yes, he was going to tell them. He had to. </p><p>Richie loved hanging out with Henry, possibly more than he realized. Sure, all they did was walk around after dark and smoke, or on the off days that Richie would pretend to be grounded, Henry would come to his house and play video games with him like he did with Stanley sometimes. He loved the Losers, and hated lying to them, but Richie didn’t know what would happen if they all found out.</p><p>	Being around Henry felt like Richie’s brain was going a mile a minute. He admired him, and he was so infatuated with him that even he was starting to realize it. But what was there to do about it? Stop hanging out with Henry? That would kill Richie, and he couldn’t just up and confess, either. That would also kill Richie. So he kept things at a standstill for as long as he could before things blew over, lying to the Losers and praying they wouldn’t follow him around and see what he was up to, and lying to Henry by pretending he only wanted a friendship. In Richie’s mind, there was no way Henry would reciprocate these feelings, and that was okay. As long as Henry was unaware Richie had them in the first place, he was allowed to pretend.</p><p>	The Losers started putting two and two together, though. Piece by piece, they would find out just what Richie was doing when he pretended to be grounded or doing “things for his parents.” They were onto Richie, but had no clue what was going on involved Henry in the slightest. Until they did.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Seventeen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every time Henry was away from Richie, he felt like he was missing something. He knew he had to face this issue sooner or later. </p><p>Henry decided later. </p><p>Not only did Henry not know how to face this, he was scared to admit what it really meant. Richie made him feel weird and jittery inside, and it bugged Henry, but he couldn’t live without it. While Richie was constantly busy with him, his parents, and the Losers, Henry could never feel busy himself. Sure, he would do his chores or make a sad attempt at drawing a picture, but when those things failed, he always found himself back inside his bedroom, staring at the picture Richie had given him. He would think about Richie, too. Whenever they weren’t hanging out, Henry felt empty, and the only thing that could relieve the emptiness was thinking about him.</p><p>If his friends got out of camp or jail or wherever they had gone anytime soon, Henry knew he would find himself back on drugs or drinking. He knew he could drink now, if he wanted-  his father always kept a freezer full of beer on their back porch- but Henry didn’t want to. He felt drinking would make everything worse, and it was probably for the best that his friends weren’t around. They would only enable him from their own boredom. </p><p>Henry was enjoying one of the rare days he got to hang out and spend the night with Richie. He knew Richie had to make up a lie to be with him, but if Richie wanted to tell Henry about it, he didn’t say anything. They were both sitting on Richie’s bed, playing video games, when Richie’s father pushed open the door.</p><p>Henry looked up from the TV and wondered if he should be worried. Did Richie’s dad recognize him from something? Did Richie talk about him? Richie didn’t look concerned, though. He paused the game and huffed. “Hey dad.” Then suddenly, Richie did look concerned. “Um, what do you need? Is someone at the door?”</p><p>He thought he knew what this was about. The Losers were outside, weren’t they? Asking if Richie was home? Wentworth shook his head, though, and rested his forearm on the doorknob. “Nope.” Henry could tell the man wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he stood up straighter and motioned to him. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“Oh. My friend. Henry,” Richie said dismissively, gently shaking his foot as he waited for the conversation to be over. That was another thing Henry found to admire about Richie- he couldn’t stop fidgeting. </p><p>Wentworth nodded, giving them a thoughtful look. “And why haven’t I seen him before? He’s not one your… your little Losers?”</p><p>Richie sighed and looked at Henry. “No, he’s not one of them.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>	“Because,” Richie started. “They don’t really like him.”</p><p>	Wentworth nodded knowingly, continuing to watch the boys from the doorway. Henry was only slightly paranoid that Wentworth was putting things together. “Well, that’s nice of you, Richie. To not exclude someone just because your friends don’t get along with him. Anyway, your mom is making pork chops tonight.” He started to walk away, but paused. “Nice to meet you, Henry.” Then he smiled.</p><p>	Henry knew he had to be nice back, or he wouldn’t ever be allowed in Richie’s house again. “You too, Mr. Tozier.”</p><p>	Wentworth Tozier finally left, shutting the door behind him.</p><p>	Richie didn’t unpause the game, though. He set his controller down on the bed and narrowed his eyes at Henry. “Hey.”</p><p>	He wasn’t sure what all of this was about, but he couldn’t have done something wrong, could he? Maybe this was about Richie’s dad, something Henry should watch out for later or something. “Hey.”</p><p>	“This is, um…” Richie trailed off. He looked down to the carpet, chewing the dead skin on his lip. Henry knew Richie wasn’t conventionally attractive, but it didn’t matter. He thought Richie was fucking gorgeous. He seemed to have lost his original train of thought, because Richie sat up straight all of a sudden and grinned. “You got a girlfriend?”</p><p>	No, Henry didn’t have a girlfriend, and if he did, Richie would’ve seen her at one time or another. Why was he asking? “No?” Henry answered, dumbfounded and wondering where this was leading.</p><p>	Richie leaned forward and kissed him, smack on the lips. Then he pulled away as if nothing happened. It was so quick, Henry could’ve swore it never even happened. He wished Richie made it last longer. “Sorry. Had to do that.” Henry didn’t look satisfied with this explanation, so he went on. “Never kissed a guy before,” Richie grinned nervously. “Or, uh, anyone.”</p><p>	He was still completely baffled by what had just happened, and dead silent. </p><p>	“Sorry.” Richie looked up at him with innocent eyes. “I know that was probably really gross-” he started to laugh, but Henry could tell none of it was funny to Richie. The laughing and smiling was out of pure terror. “-but… um-”</p><p>	Richie’s bedroom door was pushed open again, and this time, it was not Wentworth. </p><p>	Henry would much rather prefer Wentworth, even if he walked in on the two of them kissing.</p><p>	“Richie! What the fuck?” Eddie blurted, stepping further into the room. Richie whipped his head around to face the Losers. All six of them were there, filing into the room silently. Some of them, like Stanley and Ben, avoided eye contact. Others just looked confused, and some downright pissed. Like Eddie.</p><p>	“Y-You w-wuh-weren’t grounded,” Bill muttered, glaring at Henry like he was a piece of gum on the sole of his shoe. “You’re a f-fuh-fucking l-liar.” He was looking at Richie now, and Richie looked more terrified now than Henry had ever seen him before. Even when Henry used to beat him. </p><p>	Richie took a deep breath, looking between Henry, Bill, Eddie and Ben. “Listen. Listen, okay? I was going to tell you guys, but I knew you wouldn’t react well. But he’s- listen! Look at me! He’s nicer now, okay? He is. I promise.” Richie looked pitiful, as if he knew the Losers wouldn’t forgive him.</p><p>	“You could’ve just said you wanted to hang out with someone else,” Beverly spoke up. She started off looking plain confused, but now she was one of the angry ones. “We would’ve thought you had a girlfriend. And then we would’ve left it alone. But you had to lie.” Beverly looked at Henry now, crossing her arms. “And for him?”</p><p>	Richie looked angry now, too. “Do you want me to explain or not? You guys don’t know anything!” he shouted, and it was easy to tell that he was letting his emotions control him. “You want to get mad at me without even listening to me first? You wanna know who wouldn’t do that? Henry.” He turned to look at Henry almost immediately after he spoke, and it was clear he wanted Henry to say something next.</p><p>	He couldn’t get anything out at first, but he half-assed his way through an explanation. “I know how you all feel about me,” Henry said quietly, only daring to look Beverly in the eyes. “But I stopped hurting him, okay? And you guys too.” He felt as if he needed to say more, but he couldn’t think of anything. Maybe apologize, or explain what happened during camp?</p><p>	“Yeah, it’s only because all your friends are in fucking jail. You know you wouldn’t dare get us without them,” Eddie shot back. He narrowed his eyes. “Pussy. I bet as soon as they get out tomorrow, you’re gonna be right with them again! Aren’t you?”</p><p>	Nobody seemed to be phased by Eddie’s words. “Richie, you’re an idiot if you pick him over us,” Beverly said. </p><p>	Richie shook his head. He knew where he stood. “I’m an idiot.” He stood up. “Leave.”</p><p>	The Losers left quietly yet reluctantly, all except Ben. He stood in the middle of the room and stared at Richie. “What, dude?”</p><p>	“I’m not mad at you,” Ben spoke. “I’m sure you have your reasons, and they won’t listen to you. But if you decide to come back, I’m on your side. Okay? We’ll miss you.” Ben patted Richie on the shoulder, before smiling and leaving the room.</p><p>	Richie plopped back down on the bed, laying on his stomach. Henry stared at him silently.</p><p>	Bad things had come from this day, especially for Richie. But at least Henry knew that he was a fag.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Eighteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW for some weird nonconsensual semi-sexual touching. you can skip this chapter if you are uncomfortable</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t long before Richie got used to hanging out with Henry’s friends. The Bowers gang, the people his friends were always so afraid of. The people that used to beat him up. It was insane, but it wasn’t all that bad. </p><p>	Richie soon learned that Belch and Victor were actually nice to him. He wasn’t sure if it was only because Henry told him to, or if they respected him. Patrick was pretty bad. But Victor and Belch basically did whatever Henry told them to do. They didn’t bother Richie too much.</p><p>	Belch, in Richie’s eyes, seemed like a pretty simple guy. He was really into guns, which wasn’t entirely disturbing- there are worse things to be into. Richie and Belch didn’t talk much at all, but never got in each other’s way. Most of Richie’s time was spent talking to Henry, anyway.</p><p>	Victor was quiet, but whenever Henry was gone Richie found himself talking to Victor. He was actually really smart, and Richie often wondered how he even wound up being friends with Henry in the first place. But then again, how did Richie? Victor was probably the only sane member of their group, not including Richie himself. Richie could admit that Henry had some unresolved trauma, even if he did have a huge crush on him. </p><p>	There were other ones that came around, too. Moose Saddler was one of the recurring members, but he wasn’t around a lot. There was a boy named Peter Gordon at one point, too, but when he never showed up again, Richie figured the other guys didn’t like him. He was surprised he was still around, but he had Henry to thank for that. The last member, and by far the worst, was Patrick.</p><p>	Richie took measures to stay away from Patrick as much as possible. He hated the fact that Henry even chose to talk to this guy, let alone hang out with them every day. </p><p>	It was the day after the Losers came to his house. Richie and Henry had woken up, left, and spent two hours after dark walking around town and smoking. Derry’s curfew had been lifted, but even if it hadn’t, that wouldn’t stop them. At one point, Richie had been off guard, probably staring admirably at Henry or lost in his thoughts when Patrick came up from behind and started touching him. Rubbing him, his stomach, his arms, and hell, Patrick had gotten to Richie’s thighs before Henry whipped around and saw what was happening.</p><p>	“Don’t fucking touch him,” Henry threatened. Richie remembered seeing Henry practically yank Patrick off of him and push him to the ground. When Patrick got up, and the other guys stopped walking to watch what was happening, Patrick said, “Oh, he’s yours then? Picked a cutie.”</p><p>	Richie was so terrified and so disgusted that he had to cling to Henry’s arm for the rest of the night. It wasn’t his proudest moment, but he didn’t have a lot of those to begin with. </p><p>	“Gettin’ late. I’m gonna drink,” Belch said, standing up from his seat on Henry’s back porch to take a few beer cans from Butch Bowers’ stash.</p><p>	“Damn, you got the right idea!” Patrick stood up too, and Richie cringed as he watched Patrick move across the porch. Henry looked at him from the doorstep and motioned for Richie to sit next to him.</p><p>	Richie sat down, not daring to pass up an opportunity to be closer to Henry. A voice in his head told him that it wasn’t good. Henry had something to tell him, and it was bad. It was about what he did that day, or...</p><p>	Henry had never mentioned it since it happened. Richie wondered why he never talked about it, but he still had hope. If Henry was disgusted by it, Richie wouldn’t be around, would he? </p><p>	“You’re not drinking,” Henry said plainly. </p><p>	Richie looked up from the wooden planks of Henry’s back porch and furrowed his eyebrows. Henry was telling him he couldn’t drink? Why? “And why not?”</p><p>	“You’re too young.” He smiled, and Richie wasn’t sure if this was just a teasing smile, or  an innocent one. Henry wasn’t making any moves to start drinking, either, and Richie knew why. Henry was going to watch him.</p><p>	But why did he care? Richie looked Henry up and down and raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look twenty-one to me, either.” He couldn’t hold back a grin.</p><p>	“You see me drinking? No. Plus, I don’t want to have to look after you if you do something stupid or get alcohol poisioning.”</p><p>	“You have to look after me anyway,” Richie muttered, annoyed that Henry felt like he needed to take care of him. It was stupid. </p><p>	Henry grinned wider and threw his arm around Richie’s shoulders. “You’re right.”</p><p>	Sulkingly, Richie leaned back on Henry’s arm and the door behind him. But Richie realized one good thing came out of this. He knew Henry cared about him, even if he was looking for ways around admitting it. He also knew he could now kiss Henry and get away with it. </p><p>	It wasn’t like Henry would ever bring it up.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Nineteen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>im sick. dont know if its the coronavirus because my parent doesnt want to test me. my internet is also being a total fucking slut so if i dont update those are my reasons</p><p>if i sound like an angry little bitch its because i am</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t long before the Losers grew restless and miserable. They barely stayed sane during the few weeks that Richie had to spend in summer camp, and most of them were finally coming to the conclusion that they had to apologize. Yes, Richie was insane for hanging out with Henry Bowers and his gang, but they never gave him a chance to explain why. They never asked, and now they all found themselves wondering why Richie chose Henry over them. It was obvious, to some of the Losers more than others, but they’d made a terrible mistake.</p><p>	Bill stood up in the center of their clubhouse, grabbing everyone’s attention as the sun started to set and the day came to an end. “W-We n-nuh-need Richie. He’s not d-duh-dead yet, s-so he muh-m-must be right. Buh-Bowers has ch-changed.” He looked around at his friends, hoping he wouldn’t have to do much talking to get them to agree. Everyone missed Richie, and Bill was so desperate at this point that he would even let Henry stay around if that meant Richie could be with them.</p><p>	Not everyone agreed with Bill, though. Stanley Uris was the first to speak up. “No. We should let him come to us. It’s not like he doesn’t know where we all live. I miss him too, Bill, but it is his fault.”</p><p>	“No.”</p><p>	This was Ben’s voice. Ben himself had wandered away from the group at various times, knocking on Richie’s door, only to be met by Wentworth and Maggie. Richie was never home, meaning Ben never got to talk to him. How was he supposed to know where Richie ran off to everyday? But if Richie wasn’t at home, it meant he was with Henry. They were inseparable, and Ben knew that better than anyone else. Richie didn’t regret his decision, and if he did, he would already be crawling back to them.</p><p>	Everyone stared at Ben, shocked that he was speaking at all, let alone aggressively. He’d been extremely quiet for the past week, after the last day that they had seen Richie. </p><p>	“You guys didn’t even let Richie explain. We need him back, it doesn’t matter if he wants Henry with him or not. Even if Henry still is a bad person, he can be manipulative. Richie’s not perfect. Nobody is, we all make mistakes.” He stood up, fuming at Stanley for saying anything. This was one of them they were talking about. Everyone in the group loved Richie dearly, but Ben was starting to have his own doubts about Stanley. </p><p>	Within seconds, Ben had climbed the ladder, flipped the trapdoor, and was out of the clubhouse. The rest of the Losers didn’t have to guess to find out where he was heading. They all followed him wordlessly. Once they made it out of the Barrens, Mike broke the silence to ask where they should search first.</p><p>	“He’s with Henry,” Ben spoke again, without a shadow of a doubt in his mind. “I know none of us want to, but we have to check Henry’s house first. It’s closest, anyway.” He set off in the direction of Henry’s house, and everyone knew right then and there that Ben was the new unofficial leader of the group for the time being. He cared the most about finding Richie, and nobody was going to argue with his logic. Sure, Eddie was the best with directions, but it wasn’t like they didn’t know Derry by heart. </p><p>	Well, the parts above ground, anyway.</p><p>	Eddie lost their round of nose-goes and had to peek into Henry’s bedroom window. It was dark, but Eddie could tell immediately that neither of them were there. In fact, the whole house looked dark. Maybe Butch was out somewhere, too. </p><p>	The next logical place for Richie to be was in his own house. Richie’s bedroom was upstairs, which meant the Losers had to knock on the door to ask if he was home. </p><p>	When they got there, Mike stepped onto the Tozier’s front porch and knocked. Nobody came to the door. He looked around and pointed out that Wentworth’s car was gone, but not Maggie’s. They all collectively decided that the two of them went out for a date night or grocery shopping, and Richie had to be somewhere else. None of them could imagine Richie huddled in the dark, ignoring someone knocking on the door. Even if he knew it was them.</p><p>	“This sucks,” Eddie spoke up. He kicked a rock as they made their way out of Richie’s neighborhood, after the Losers decided to walk around Main Street and pray they got lucky.</p><p>	“Yeah,” Stanley said softly. Ben shot him an angry look. “No! I mean, I want to find him, but-”</p><p>	“Stanley, if you’re going to be a little bitch about it, just go home,” Beverly muttered. Bill looked at her without saying anything. “I want to find Richie. If you don’t, you don’t have to help us.”</p><p>	Stanley huffed and moved closer to Mike, wishing he hadn’t spoke. “It was Eddie who said it first, so shut up. I’m just saying I wish we didn’t have to go all over town looking for him. I just want to see him already.”</p><p>	Everyone kept quiet after this. They made it onto Main Street, and at that point, it was nearly pitch dark outside. Sure, there were street lamps, but those didn’t particularly help when each of them were forty yards apart. Bill was just glad that the Derry curfew was dropped.</p><p>	The Losers weaved their way in and out of stores, buildings, and alleyways, but ultimately had no luck. They decided to drop by a convenience store, one they had already checked, after Eddie said he was getting tired, hungry, and thirsty. They all were at this point, but Eddie was the only one who wanted to admit it.</p><p>	Eddie and Bill went to the freezers in the back, Eddie searching for a vanilla Coke and Bill craving an Arizona tea. That was when they heard a familiar voice.</p><p>	“Shit!” Richie exclaimed, his eyes on the tile floor. He sighed and licked something off of his thumb, while Henry shook his head and grabbed some napkins. </p><p>	He crouched down to clean up the mess Richie had made. “Can you go two seconds wihtout making a mess? ” Henry muttered, standing back up and throwing the napkins away. The two of them were standing in front of an Icee machine, and apparently Richie had trouble keeping his hand steady as he spilled a suicide of blue raspberry, cola, and cherry flavors all over the floor. Bill had a slight suspicion Richie had done it on purpose to annoy Henry, although it really was hard to tell with him.</p><p>	Henry grabbed a lid and a straw, handing them both to Richie before wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay. C’mon.” Richie gave Henry a sheepish, innocent smile and followed him to the counter.</p><p>	Bill looked at Eddie, partially to see if he was hallucinating. Maybe Richie was right, and Henry had changed. None of his behavior had been… violent, or aggressive. In fact, it seemed like Henry was looking after Richie... neither of the boys had seen Eddie or Bill, though, and Bill was thankful.</p><p>	Eddie was giving him the same exact look.</p><p>	Bill grabbed his tea from the store fridge and followed Richie and Henry. He hoped none of the Losers got to Richie first, but everyone else was in the front, looking for chips or chocolate or beef jerky. The Losers shared food often, so it only made sense for everyone to get a different thing. Luckily, Bill was the first to catch up with Richie, although Mike was watching them silently from the aisle, a bag of sunflower seeds in hand.</p><p>	“Ruh-Richie,” Bill stammered, almost too stunned to speak. “And, u-hm, Henry.”</p><p>	Both of them turned around. Henry looked indifferent, more like he was curious about what Bill wanted to say to them, while Richie looked somewhat offended. “Bill?” Richie said, before noticing Eddie behind him. “Oh, h… hey Eds. What’s… what’s up?”</p><p>	Bill spoke right over Eddie. He didn’t care what Eddie had to say, he had to catch Richie while he was still here. “W-We were l-luh-looking for you. Juh-Just want to say I’m sorry. We all m-muh-miss you. Um… and if y-you want to tuh-t-teh-tell us your side o-of the story, we’ll l-listen, okay? Y-You can eh-even bring him, i-if you want. We j-just want you back.” He stole a sneaky glance at Henry, just to see how he would act. Henry’s facial expression was the exact same, and Bill wondered if he did it on purpose, or if he just genuinely didn’t care.</p><p>	Richie, however, did care. He grinned, and slung an arm around Bill. “I knew you would come to your senses, Big Bill. I missed you guys too.” Bill had a feeling it would be a hug instead if Richie didn’t have a sticky, melting Icee in his right hand. “When do you guys want to talk?”</p><p>	“N-Now?” Bill asked. The Losers had started watching ever since Bill called out Richie’s name, but now they were moving closer, starting to surround Bill, Richie and Henry in some kind of claustrophobic, peer-pressure nightmare. </p><p>	“Oh,” Richie mumbles, as if he’s disappointed. He looks at Henry, and Henry doesn’t respond. As if Henry’s nonexistent facial expression could give Richie some type of answer, he spoke again. “Okay. Where?”</p><p>	“W-We c-cuh-can go to my house,” Bill offered, seeing as nobody else had any ideas. “A-Ah-And you can c-come too, Henry.”</p><p>	Henry gave Bill a one-sided smile. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A start.</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Twenty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once all of the Losers settled down inside Bill’s living room and Richie explained what happened between him and Henry during camp (with Henry interjecting a few times to tell the Losers how it “actually” happened,) everyone decided Henry was fine to hang out with them, although the majority of the Losers remained apprehensive. Richie made special precautions to leave out the part that the two of them slept in the same bed for a while. He knew Henry would kill him if he ever admitted it. </p><p>It was hard for the Losers to believe that Henry did help Richie after he accidentally cut himself open while playing soccer, but nobody was going to call Richie out on the supposed lie. Plus, Richie swore up and down- and it wasn’t like the Losers could imagine either of them lying on purpose so they would have an excuse to become friends. It sounded far-fetched, that was all.</p><p>	At least, that’s what Beverly was telling Bill and Stanley later that night while most of the other Losers were sleeping or watching the movie that Bill had thrown on at the last minute. The three of them were trying to understand- or rather unscramble Henry, to figure out if he was just straight-up manipulating Richie or if he had any other motives. For God’s sake, this guy cut Ben’s stomach open and broke Eddie’s arm. How could he have changed from that, to… well… cleaning up Richie’s overflown Icee-suicide on the convenience store tile? Stanley remembered the time that Henry had scrubbed his face with snow so hard that it bled a few winters ago, in vivid detail, and he wouldn’t believe Henry had helped Richie to the nurses office after projectile vomiting all over the cabin floor unless he’d seen it himself. </p><p>	But was it possible neither of them were lying, and that all of these things had actually happened?</p><p>	Stanley seemed to have an idea. It seemed like ages ago, but he remembered the time he was at Richie’s house, and Richie had answered the door. He’d been taking forever, so Stanley opened the window and tried to see who Richie was talking to. The porch was covered, which was convenient when it rained, but it was not raining that day, and it was concealing Stanley’s view. He decided to listen instead, and the more he thought about it, he realized now that the only person it could’ve been was Henry. </p><p>	Beverly and Bill listened to this and nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Probably him,” Beverly whispered, glancing across Bill’s room to look at Richie and Henry. They were both watching the movie, although little did they know, neither of them were paying attention. Richie and Henry were sitting close together. Maybe too close. They were even sharing a blanket.</p><p>	Yet neither of them seemed even slightly interested in what Beverly, Bill and Stan were talking about. That was good, because it meant they wouldn’t ask questions, but they knew it was also bad in a way they couldn’t describe. </p><p>Stanley leaned closer to the two of them and lowered his voice a considerable amount. “Henry has a thing for Richie. I’ll bet you a million dollars.” He looked at Bill, and then Beverly, fearing he might be judged for his assumption, but with Henry Bowers, you never knew what his intentions were.</p><p>Beverly smiled before punching him in the arm. “Hell no. It’s the other way around. Think about it… the way Richie acts around him. He’s just so… fucking… I don’t know. Giggly?” She was still grinning, though, as if the idea of Richie having a thing for Henry wasn’t terrifying in itself.</p><p>Stanley and Beverly tossed this idea around, but Bill’s mind was somewhere else. </p><p>Bill wondered if it went both ways. He watched them silently, daring one of them to look him in the eye. Neither of them did, it was like they were brainwashed, their eyes glued to the TV. </p><p>He went back over Richie’s story about him and Henry in camp, trying to make a timeline, seeing if it made sense. There had to be a lie somewhere, right? It wasn’t like the two of them were actually bunkmates or whatever from the start. Maybe Henry weaseled his way into Richie’s bunk or something. </p><p>Bill chewed on his bottom lip and stared at the pair for way too long. He just couldn’t put anything together.</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Twenty-One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>again, might not update in a bit. im leaving home today to clear my mind.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Henry nudged Richie in the side. Richie was out like a light, so he nudged him again, harder.</p><p>	This woke him up. Richie groaned and opened his eyes, looking up to face Henry. Why were they so close? Richie could’ve swore they were at least a couple feet away from each other when he fell asleep.</p><p>	“Hey,” Henry said quietly. It looked like he never even laid his head down on his pillow, and that could’ve been the case, because his pillowcase was completely undisturbed. “I waited ‘til everyone was asleep. I need to talk to you.”</p><p>	Richie reaches for his glasses and sits up, looking around at the other Losers before putting them on. The room wasn’t pitch dark. Bill always used a night light, not because he was scared of the dark, but because he had trouble falling asleep without it. Or, at least, that’s what he told everybody. None of the Losers judged him for it, because they knew better. “I know you don’t like them,” Richie whispers. “After this, we can hang out alone again, okay?” He started to wonder how terrible he looked, and reached up to pat down his hair. Richie assumed it was spiked up in random spots.</p><p>	Henry shook his head and put his arms around Richie. It was something new, but it didn’t surprise Richie, either. “Not that,” he said, combing his fingers through Richie’s hair for him. Richie liked how it felt, and he smiled to himself, glad Henry wasn’t able to see. “It’s… um, well, you know.” Henry pauses. “What happened.”</p><p>	His smile fades, and he sits there quietly, wondering what the fuck Henry was talking about. What happened? Did he do something stupid, or was he refferring to something that happened during camp? That was forever ago. Why was he only talking about it now?</p><p>	And then it hit him. It had to be about the kiss, or some other thing that happened… maybe Patrick Hockstetter rubbing his disgusting hands all over him. Richie cringes just thinking about it. Ew. But seriously, what’s he talking about?</p><p>	Henry sighs and drops his arms. “The kiss, Richie. Goddamn it.”</p><p>	Richie can already tell Henry’s mad at him, and he expected to get chewed out, but it didn’t happen. Henry just sits there and stares at him, the side of his face illuminated by Bill’s night light. “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t, uh…” Henry trailed off, and Richie figured he was going to say that he didn’t feel the same way, or that he’s not “into guys” but the two of them can still be friends. </p><p>	“Whatever,” Richie hissed, pushing Henry away and laying back down. The last thing in the world that he wants to do is talk about it, and listen to Henry’s explanation about why he doesn’t like him. </p><p>	Henry looked angry again, but nothing came out of it.</p><p>	Richie closed his eyes and wished that the whole thing would be over, but he feels Henry sitting there, propped up on his elbow, watching him. Thinking of what to say, thinking about how to put him down easily. “It’s fine,” Richie said again.</p><p>	“No, Richie, seriously. I don’t know what to say because I don’t know how to feel about it, okay?”</p><p>	Richie opened his eyes again and stared at Henry. Both of them were dead silent, and the only thing that could be heard were Stanley’s soft snores from across the room, a few feet behind Richie. Richie could tell it was Stanley without even looking. </p><p>	“Did it mean anything? When you did it? Or did you just say, uh, fuck it?” Henry spoke again. </p><p>	“Well, uh,” Richie grinned. He could feel himself starting up again. “If we kiss again, I can make it mean something.” Fuck. Why did he say that? Why couldn’t he have just pretended to be dead when Henry tried waking him up? </p><p>	Henry snickered quietly, to Richie’s surprise, and laid back down next to him. Richie is suddenly surprised that neither of them have woken any of the Losers up. “God. You nerd.” Henry smiled at him, and Richie could feel his own grin growing wider.</p><p>	“Shut up.”</p><p>	The conversation ended there, and Richie closed his eyes. Henry watched Richie for a little longer before turning around and deciding to try to get some sleep himself.</p><p>	Mike Hanlon’s eyes shot open. </p><p>He was glad to have been directly below Henry and Richie, or else he wouldn’t have heard that conversation. What are his options, though? Keep their secret safe, or tell the Losers?</p><p>	Mike shut his eyes again and turned to lay on his stomach. He had his mind made the second he started to drift off.</p><p>	If Richie and Henry continue taking risks like that one, it’s not like their secret will last long anyway.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Twenty-Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry if this chapter sucks, literally have no clue if i edited it or not.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey.”</p><p>	Richie and Henry both look up at the same time. It was Mike who spoke to them first, while the Losers cleaned up their breakfast in the kitchen from earlier. “Hey Mike,” Richie says, glancing at Henry wearily before making eye contact with Mike again. “You okay?”</p><p>	He nods, eyeing Henry suspiciously before deciding to speak again. “You guys might want to be more careful if you don’t want them to find out you two are dating,” Mike cautioned. This was meant as a joke, mostly, but Mike truly did want them to be careful. He didn’t want to deal with the backlash of one of the Losers finding out and ostracizing Richie because he was gay. Mike knew they weren’t dating- not at the moment, anyway- but he could tell it was going in that direction. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone else. Just be careful.” He headed into the kitchen without another word, hoping neither of the two would hate him for bringing it up. Mike was only cautioning them.</p><p>	Henry stood up from their place on the floor. “Get up,” he muttered, before turning and opening Bill’s front door. He was standing on the porch, waiting for Richie.</p><p>	Richie was shocked, partially because they weren’t even dating, and also because Mike apparently had the impression that they were. Dazed, Richie got to his feet and followed Henry. He knew Henry was angry this time, and he would just have to find some way to calm him down. </p><p>	Once Richie was outside, Henry shut the door and clenched his teeth. He went silent, trying to think of what to say next. Nothing too harsh, even though Henry was fuming at the fact Richie would tell any of them that they were dating. They weren’t fucking dating, for God’s sake, so why would Richie feel the need to tell people that?</p><p>	“Why?” he demanded. Richie stared at him from below, still shocked and trying to process whatever Mike had said to them.</p><p>	He opened his mouth, but shut it again soon afterwards. “I didn’t!” he finally protested, his eyes widening. “Why would I- why? Why would I do that?” Richie repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. </p><p>	Henry couldn’t tell if Richie was lying or not. Normally, when Richie lied, it was playful- nothing ever too serious, and it would always end with both of them laughing their asses off. But this was different, and Henry honestly couldn’t see Richie lying to Mike.</p><p>	“It was… he probably heard us last night. Or maybe he was just joking. Why would I tell him that?” Richie stepped closer and stared up at him, a hurt look on his face. “You have to fucking believe me,” Richie started again, and Henry knew he would have to say something to calm him down. Plus… he was too fucking cute to stay mad at.</p><p>	“Okay. I believe you,” Henry started, pulling Richie closer to him and ruffling his hair. It didn’t matter. The Losers already thought they were dating, and it wasn’t like they weren’t this close to each other when they both hung out alone. “But we have to prove that we’re not.”</p><p>	Richie nodded. He knew how bad it could get if anyone outside of the Losers Club knew they were together. Well, thought that they were together, but there wasn’t a difference.</p><p>	He looks up at Henry and squints. Does he really want to be with Henry? Richie would be judged harshly for it, sure, but… Henry had changed. If the Losers won’t back him up, then he wouldn’t need them, would he?</p><p>	Richie huffed, because he wasn’t sure who to pick or who to turn to, and he didn’t think Henry wanted to be with him anyway. “How do we prove that, then? Because we can’t. We could pretend I’m dead,” he threw out sarcastically, completely out of hope at this point.</p><p>	“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. We can think of something.” Henry lied straight through his teeth, because it most likely wouldn’t be fine, and the two of them rarely (if ever) came up with good ideas. </p><p>	Richie was only glad that Henry trusted him. If he didn’t, he knew Henry would be gone right now. And he wasn’t sure how hard it would be to gain his trust again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. The End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie laid down, feeling just as worn out as the couch underneath him. He struggled to catch his breath. Once he did, he turned his head to look at Henry who was standing at the front door, watching him quietly. “I’m still winded,” Richie murmured.</p><p>	The two of them had just finished all of the chores that Butch had given Henry, and farmwork was honestly Richie’s worst nightmare. He didn’t think it would be that bad, but milking animals and pulling bales of hay around all day not only wore you down but made you smell disgusting. Before Richie hopped in the shower, he’d wanted to burn the pair of jeans he was wearing. He wasn’t sure they would ever be the same again.</p><p>	His hair was clean now, though, and he was relieved. He sunk into the couch cushions underneath him and shut his eyes. Richie was wearing some of Henry’s clothes, which were admittedly too big for him, but it wasn’t like he had other options.</p><p>	Henry smiled at him and moved to the far end of the couch, before lifting Richie’s legs up and sitting down in the available space. “You get used to it. Thanks for helping.” The truth was, Richie was so scrawny and inexperienced, whenever Richie wasn’t dropping things or doing something wrong, Henry was explaining things to him. He had to pick up Richie’s slack and ultimately ended up doing most (if not all) of the work, but it was funny seeing Richie struggle and tire himself through frustration. But the most important thing was that Richie felt like he was helping, even if he was doing the exact opposite. It took about five or six hours, because usually Victor, Belch, and sometimes even Patrick and Moose Saddler came over to help him. Henry didn’t ask for any of them to come over today. He wanted Richie to himself.</p><p>	Richie smiled up at him from his place on the couch. He wasn’t sure that Henry would’ve broke a sweat if the temperature that day hadn’t been near the one-hundred mark. Still, Richie kind of admired how patient Henry was with him. He had made a damn fool of himself all day, but Henry never yelled at him. He would just try to explain better, which never helped, but Richie appreciated it anyway.</p><p>	“I think I made more of a mess than helping,” Richie admitted, but that didn’t stop him from grinning ear to ear. Even if farmwork was shitty, he liked being around Henry. He was fully aware of his infatuation with him at this point, and he was starting to suspect Henry felt the same. But Richie knew he would never be able to prove it. He’d just have to get him at the right time. That was all.</p><p>	Henry smiled and shook his head in disagreement, Richie’s legs still resting on his lap. “No. You helped. You gave me some solid entertainment,” he laughed to himself, reaching out to mess up Richie’s slightly damp hair. </p><p>	Grinning wider, he shut his eyes and relished the feeling. He was going to do something stupid now. Richie could feel it coming, it was like intuition. </p><p>	“Hey,” he spoke, opening his eyes again and sitting up straight. “I think we should just date already.”</p><p>	Henry’s smile faded as he narrowed his eyes at Richie. He still wasn’t mad. Never mad. Maybe confused? “We-”</p><p>	Richie cut him off. “I know you like me,” he went on, leaning closer to Henry. If he was wrong, then boy fucking howdy, he was screwed. But if he was right, Henry would know that he was caught, and they would get together. That’s how it was going to happen- that’s how it had to happen. Why would Henry say no if he did have feelings for him?</p><p>	“And why do you think that?” Henry spoke, a pit forming in Richie’s gut. Was he wrong? Shit, so where was this going?</p><p>	Richie looked away, thinking. There was still a chance. A sliver, but a sliver is still a chance. “Well, for one, you’re…” he mumbled, looking back at Henry and smirking. In no way was he confident, but he had to act like it. “You’re really protective of me.” He thought back to what Patrick did to him, and how Henry saved him. If it weren’t for Henry, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve stayed frozen in place like that or not.</p><p>	Come on, what else? Richie thought wildly, trying to think back to a time Henry showed him even slight affection. “We slept in the same bed for almost a week. I thought you hated me,” his fake-smirk grew wider as he moved closer to Henry. “But you let it happen.” Richie realized that he could also mention Henry waking up and letting Richie practically sleep on him, but he wanted Henry to say something next, so he had to stop talking for now.</p><p>	Henry was looking down at the couch cushion. This was where his father sat every night while he watched shitty reality TV or sports or whatever happened to be on. Was there a way his father would know about this if he admitted? It’s not like he was here, listening. He was out somewhere, and Clarissa was too. No chance of anyone hearing.</p><p>	Richie seemed agitated with Henry’s lack of a response, so he piped up again. “We cuddled on that bed. You carried me to the nurse.” </p><p>	Sure, Richie was a bit of a blabbermouth, but he could keep quiet about serious things if people asked him to. Henry thought back to the drawing that Richie had given him after camp. He wanted more time to think about it, but he didn’t want to leave Richie confused and upset. Henry knew what the answer was going to be after all, it was just the other things he needed to think about- the two of them sneaking out to be with each other, the lying to their parents and friends, the secrets they’d be keeping from everyone. </p><p>	“Why do you like me?” Henry asked. The question had been nowhere on his mind, but after asking it, he started to think about that too. He used to terrorize Richie every day. Did Richie have some fucked up case of Stockholm syndrome? </p><p>	No, it wasn’t that. Henry had changed, and he knew it was for the better, but the question still lingered. Maybe it was just because Richie thought he had a chance with Henry, and if Henry was the only person he could date in Derry, he’d take it.</p><p>	Richie glared at Henry as if he were stupid, but most of his anger had come out of wanting an answer. Why did Henry have to make things so fucking complicated and drawn out? “Well, it’s not because you used to call me a four-eyed faggot and beat me until I cried, if that’s what you’re wondering.”</p><p>	“Then what is it? I, uh…” Henry mumbled, feeling stupid. “I like you too, but I’m just wondering. You could… uh… do better.” He felt like eating a bullet out of his dad’s revolver right now, but Richie liked him. Richie liked him, for some probably fucked up reason, and he wanted to stick around to find out why. He wanted to know if Richie was serious about this, and if they would end up being a “thing.” </p><p>	“You’ve changed, dumbass. You are better.” Richie’s glare softened, but Henry could see it was still there. Richie was angry with him? Of course Richie was angry, Henry was being stubborn.</p><p>	“Oh,” Henry said stupidly again. He looked away, unsure of what to say next. Him and Richie were so close, did Richie want him to do something? Make a move? He couldn’t. He could barely talk, let alone move.</p><p>	Richie turned away from him and let his head rest on Henry’s shoulder. He was done with Henry’s hesitation. “Whatever. I’ll decide for you.” He grabbed one of Henry’s hands and held it, letting their hands rest on his lap. “We’re dating now. That okay?”</p><p>	Henry froze up, feeling the warmth of Richie’s small hand around his bigger one. He did like this, being around Richie... the kissing and stuff could come later, if Richie even wanted that. </p><p>	“Yeah,” Henry said, letting the tension release in his shoulders. “I’m okay with that.” His words sounded awkward and forced, but it was true. He was still nervous even after the truth had come out.</p><p>	“Good,” Richie snapped, although it was only playful anger at this point. He smiled to himself too. “I love you, you bitch.”</p><p>	Henry snickered quietly and looked down at Richie. “I love you too.”</p><p>-</p><p>	By the time Butch Bowers got home that evening and started to put his can of baked beans in the microwave, Richie and Henry were splashing each other with mucky Quarry water, edging closer to their first kiss. Butch Bowers would never come to find out about Richie and Henry’s relationship until years later, and although Maggie and Wentworth Tozier never caught the two doing anything romantic, they had both known something was up since the first time Henry came over.</p><p>	But the Losers knew. Of course the Losers knew, they would be idiots not to. Richie would never shut up about Henry, especially when he wasn’t there with them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hi</p><p>writing this was fun</p><p>written 2/7/20 - 3/15/20</p><p>edited 3/16/20 - 4/11/20</p><p>published 3/18/20 - 4/11/20</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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